


After

by wheel_pen



Series: Viridian Trip [3]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fish out of Water, Gen, Imprinting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of vignettes as Trip adjusts to life on the Enterprise—helping Phlox in Sickbay, arranging Jon’s meals, and learning how to protect Jon from threats, even during a friendly game of basketball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Viridians appear human, but are actually aliens who imprint on other people (Viridian or otherwise) and form a bond with them. They also live their entire life cycle in about six Earth years.
> 
> 2\. In each series, a different character is a Viridian, who was raised by mean Klingons on an outpost. An Enterprise crewmember is captured by the Klingons and they inadvertently form a bond with the Viridian, who helps them escape. Then they return to rescue the Viridian and bring them aboard the Enterprise. The Viridian homeworld is contacted and the Enterprise crew learn the Viridian will most likely die if they are sent away. So they end up staying on the Enterprise, and the crewmember has to adjust.
> 
> 3\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

            Doctors, by the very nature of their profession, had to be calm in challenging situations. Therefore, although Phlox _felt_ like screaming, "Drop it! Back away! Right now!" when he walked into Sickbay and found Trip cradling his Xenoian rotsucker in his arms, gently stroking between its poisonous spines, he didn't. Instead he walked slowly over to the young man, though he stopped a good arm's-length away, and suggested calmly, "Ah. Perhaps you had better put the rotsucker back in his cage now."

            Trip looked up at him, blue eyes blinking innocently. "He seems awfully lonely to me, Doc. Maybe we could find a friend for him."

            Phlox's fingers were twitching with the urge to grab the amphibious creature and fling it back into its cage, and he glanced surreptitiously at the high-grade tritanium-lined gloves lying on the counter nearby which he would need to wear while doing so. "Rotsuckers are solitary creatures," he informed Trip, the tiniest bit of edge in his voice. "Please put him back now."

            Trip sighed and looked down at the warty, green-and-brown creature. "Well, I guess you gotta go back in your cage now, little guy," he told him regretfully. Phlox felt his jaw tense as Trip stood easily and set the creature back inside its heavy-duty metal container lined with the leaves of its nest. As soon as the young man had latched the door back in place, the doctor let out a sigh of relief. And immediately grabbed a scanner.

            "That creature is _extremely_ toxic, as I have told you," he reminded Trip with some irritation, scanning him quickly. "It is _not_ to be handled without proper protection, and for a very good reason. They are quite aggressive."

            "He was real quiet with me, Doc," Trip protested, not forcefully.

            "Thank goodness," Phlox revealed, gazing at the results of the scan. "You seem to have escaped being stung. Go wash your hands." Shrugging, Trip headed for the sink on the counter. "You may have caught it during a lethargic period, but the creatures here in the lab are _not_ pets, they are _not_ used to being handled."

            "Sure, Doc, I understand," Trip assured him, drying his hands on a towel. "I'm sorry. Does this mean I can't feed them anymore?"

            He looked so dejected by this idea that Phlox felt his irritation softening. "It just means that I expect you to follow the proper safety protocols when interacting with them. It's better for both you and them."

            Trip grinned happily. "Okay, Doc. I gotta get back to Engineering now. See ya later."

            Phlox nodded his good-bye, then turned back to the rotsucker's cage and scanned it quickly as well. All readings were well within normal limits. "Well, you don't seem sick, my friend," he informed it. "Perhaps you really _are_ just getting more sociable?" He dared reach a hand towards the cage, only to have the creature squawk and jump at him. Jerking away, Phlox shook his head and went back to his work.

 

***

 

            "I can't wait to see what Chef has whipped up for us tonight," Chief Marcus declared, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. It wasn't every day he got to have dinner at the Captain's table, after all.

            "I've noticed that humans seem to enjoy the anticipation of some event a great deal," T'Pol commented neutrally, "often more than the occurrence of the event itself."

            "That's part of the fun," Marcus informed her. "Like trying to guess what a present is before you open it."

            "It would be more logical to simply open the gift and _see_ what it is, if one is able to do so," the Vulcan countered, and Archer smirked from his seat across the table from her.

            "Who wants logic when you've got a wrapped present sitting in front of you?" Marcus demanded. "I mean, if the other person wanted you to know what it was right away, they wouldn't bother _wrapping_ it, would they?"

            "You're never going to win this argument, Marcus," Archer warned him with a smile.

            T'Pol narrowed her eyes at the Chief Engineer. "In the case of tonight's meal, surprise is unlikely. During eighty-three point seven percent of the regular meals served aboard the ship, the Captain receives the same dish as the main entrée served in the Mess Hall. Tonight that is filet of cod, a type of fish I understand."

            "Eighty-three point…?" Marcus repeated, staring at her.

            Archer decided to break them up a bit. "I'm sure whatever Chef's made will be good," he began, "but I have to admit that all afternoon I've been thinking about a thick, juicy, rare steak with mashed potatoes and green beans. Mmmmm."

            "I'm sure Chef would have been amenable to your request," T'Pol pointed out, despite being nonplussed at the idea of consuming animal flesh.

            Archer waved her off. "Just a whim. Fish is probably better for me anyway. Still…" he added thoughtfully, then shook his head.

            "Did I ever tell you about the summer I spent at a slaughterhouse in Wyoming?" Marcus asked innocently.

            "Dinner's here," T'Pol pointed out quickly as the steward entered through the door from the galley.

            "Maybe some other time," Archer suggested with a smirk. "After all, we all want to be able to actually _eat_ our—" His plate was set down before him by the steward and the Captain stared at it blankly.

            "Well I'll be," Marcus commented. A thick, juicy steak oozing pinkish-red juice sat on the plate, accompanied by fluffy mashed potatoes and crisp green beans. The Chief Engineer received the filet of cod, as advertised, while T'Pol's plate contained her usual array of vegetables.

            "Uh, hang on a second," Archer said to the steward, who turned back to him quickly.

            "Is something wrong, sir?"

            "No—I just wondered, why did Chef make me a steak tonight?"

            "Would you prefer the fish, sir? Or something else?" the steward questioned with great concern.

            "No, no," Archer assured him, hands going to the sides of the plate to prevent the juicy steak from being taken away. "I was just curious about the change."

            "I believe Chef was asked to prepare this meal for you this morning," the steward told him helpfully. "Mr. Trip said it was what you wanted for dinner."

            "Oh really."

            The steward paused a moment, then asked, "Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?" His look encompassed the other officers at the table, who all shook their heads. A moment later the steward slipped smartly out the door to the galley, leaving Jon staring at his plate again.

            "You seem somewhat distressed, Captain," T'Pol observed, carefully cutting her vegetables into small pieces. "Is this not the meal you preferred?"

            "It is," Archer conceded, finally cutting into the steak. Rare, just the way he liked it. "It's just—I didn't _tell_ Trip I was thinking of it. I didn't even _know_ I wanted it until this afternoon."

            "Hey, doesn't seem like anything to complain about to _me_ ," Marcus pointed out lightly. "Knows what you want before you know yourself. Good service."

            They were all quiet for a moment, eating. "Actually, I haven't seen Trip all day," Archer admitted. "Have you got him locked away somewhere in Engineering?"

            "Sure do," Marcus admitted cheerfully. "I've got him detangling the extra power couplings. I can't get any of my people to work on it for more than a couple of hours at a time before they get so frustrated they have to quit. Then you have to reset all of them anyway, because they're so sensitive, if you look at them funny they get out of alignment." He chewed thoughtfully on a piece of fish. "Trip's been working on it _all_ day, and he's so careful, he hasn't had to realign a single coupling." The engineer shook his head. "Never seen patience like that before."

            "I too must commend Trip's concentrative abilities," T'Pol added, spearing a piece of carrot. "Three days ago he requested, and was given, a Vulcan logic puzzle. I have since observed him working on it several times, often for several hours in a row. I believe he has redone the puzzle in search of the correct answer approximately thirteen times." Archer raised his eyebrows at her. "The puzzle of course is one that Vulcan children are adept at completing in under one hour during the time of their elementary education," she added, before the Captain could accuse her of giving Trip some impossible task. "However, for one untrained in the discipline of logic, his persistence is admirable."

            Archer just shook his head and enjoyed another bite of his steak. "He _does_ seem to be discovering new skills every day."

 

***

 

            Reed crossed his arms and stayed in the doorway of the Rec Room, watching Trip give the heavy punching bag in the center of the room a thorough beating. After a few moments the young man paused, breathing hard, and finally noticed Malcolm.

            "Oh, hey there, Lieutenant," he greeted, wiping some sweat away from his eyes.

            Malcolm smirked a bit. "And here I thought you weren't very aggressive," he remarked, moving closer. "Or did the bag insult the Captain?"

            Trip smiled a little. "No, sir. It's just exercise."

            "Oh? What were you thinking about?" Reed persisted.

            Trip blinked and considered that question. "Nothing," he decided matter-of-factly.

            Malcolm had to admit that seemed plausible—Trip didn't exactly strike him as a deep thinker, despite his talents in multiple areas. "Can I offer a suggestion?" he asked, stepping back a bit to better observe the young man.

            Trip shrugged. "Sure."

            "Turn your foot out a bit more, when you kick. It'll help you keep your balance better."

            Trip nodded and gave it a try. The punching bag received several painful-looking kicks, but Trip didn't wobble once. "Like that?"

            Malcolm nodded. "Do you always use full force every time? Hit as hard as you can?" he clarified at Trip's look of confusion.

            "I guess so," the young man answered. "Is that bad?"

            "Well, there's a greater risk of injury to you," Reed commented thoughtfully. "And in a real fight, it would tire you out more quickly."

            "Wouldn't it make the fight over faster?" Trip asked. "If the other person goes down right away?"

            "Depends on the other person," Reed countered. "If it's someone from another species who has greater stamina, or you need time to figure out where their vulnerable areas are, you might find you've used up all your strength without much effect on them."

            "Hmm. You're probably right, sir. I don't know much about fighting."

            "You must have gotten into a lot of fights on the outpost," Malcolm probed. "You said that was what the Klingons did all the time."

            Trip was shaking his head. "Mostly I just tried to stay out of their way, sir." He grinned suddenly. "You're the first person I ever hit."

            "Really." Malcolm was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Look, Trip," he finally began, in a serious tone, "the safety of the ship, and the Captain, are _my_ responsibility."

            "Yes, sir," Trip agreed, bewildered.

            "If you're going to stay here, as the Captain's, I don't know, _bodyguard_ "—Trip nodded at the assessment—"then I need to know that you can do that job properly."

            "Well," the young man decided, "that seems about right, sir. What do you want me to do?"

            "We should set up some sparring practice," Reed told him. "One of my men, or the MACOs. I can watch and give you pointers."

            Trip looked uncomfortable. "I don't know, sir," he answered reluctantly. "I just don't think I could hit someone."

            Reed rolled his eyes. "Trip, if you can't hit someone—and might I remind you that you _did_ hit me—how are you going to protect the Captain?"

             "Well that's different," Trip protested. "I could hit someone if they threatened the Captain."

            "That's going to make practice a bit difficult, isn't it?" Reed replied sharply, then regretted his tone when he saw Trip's dejected expression. "Look," he sighed, by way of apology, "maybe we can start with some—solo moves. Work our way up to sparring."

            Trip brightened. "Okay, sir."

 

***

 

            "—now I've talked to Chef about increasing the nutrient content of the meals he prepares," Phlox was saying, "but I thought a general shipwide announcement might be helpful as well."

            "I don't understand," Archer admitted. "All of the crew take regular vitamin supplements, don't they?"

            Phlox looked at him a bit chastisingly. "Captain, one cannot eat nothing but cheesecake and avocadoes and expect vitamin supplements to make up for the nutrients being missed."

            Jon frowned at him. "Is there someone on the ship who's only eating cheesecake and avocadoes?"

            Phlox sighed and began, "I simply meant—"

            "Doctor!" The exclamation came from the door to Sickbay, which had barely opened before Lt. Reed stumbled in, half-dragging, half-carrying a battered and bloody—

            "Trip!" Jon was at his side in an instant, lifting his other arm over his shoulders and helping Malcolm deposit him on a biobed. "What the h—l happened?!" he demanded of the Tactical Officer, who was more than a little bloody himself. Archer was momentarily distracted by two _more_ people limping past him, MACOs nonetheless, both looking the worse for wear. Visions of Suliban intruders or some kind of unannounced accident filled his mind.

            "'S my fault, sir, 'm sorry," Trip insisted, words slurring past his swollen lip.

            "Stop talking. Lie down," Phlox ordered him firmly.

            "Actually, it's _my_ fault, sir," Reed admitted, drawing Archer's laser-beam-like gaze back to him.

            Trip muttered something unintelligible in protest and reached a bloody, sweaty hand out to Jon. "Lay still," Archer told him gently. "Let the doctor do his work." Trip nodded and closed his eyes, which were bruising shut anyway.

            "Well?" Archer demanded of his clearly uncomfortable Tactical Officer, who winced as one of Phlox's nurses dabbed at a cut above his eye.

            "We were doing some hand-to-hand combat training, sir," Malcolm began, adding quickly, "You said you wanted the whole crew to be familiar with it."

            "I remember," Archer assured him coldly, indicating that Reed wasn't going to be let off that easily.

            "Trip was sparring with Corporal Carpenter"—one of the MACOs, currently occupying another biobed—"and, if you'll pardon the expression, sir, he was getting his a-s handed to him."

            " _What_?" Archer demanded in confusion.

            "He wouldn't fight back," Reed clarified, still a bit mystified by it. "Carpenter kept throwing punches, and Trip didn't run away, he just stood there and took it."

            Jon turned away for a moment, trying to wipe the fury off his face. Reed and the MACOs didn't know that was how the Klingons had treated Trip—how could they? He composed himself and faced Malcolm again. "And _then_ what happened?"

            "Well, sir," Malcolm explained sheepishly, "I thought maybe it would be a good idea to provoke Trip in another way."

            Archer closed his eyes. "You didn't."

            "I told Carpenter to insult you," Malcolm finished, as close to cringing as Archer had ever seen him.

            "G-------t, Malcolm!" For a moment everyone in the room turned to stare at the Captain before going back to their patients.

            For his part Reed seemed to feel things couldn't get any worse and allowed the rest of the story to tumble out. "Well, it _did_ work, but not too long after that Corporal Michaels and myself had to jump in to try and calm him down. He had some very good moves once he started fighting back," Malcolm added thoughtfully. "I remember the other day he said he'd been watching Chief Marcus's old kung-fu movies…"

            Archer had heard enough and left Reed in the hands of the nurse. Neither he nor Michaels seemed _too_ distressed; Carpenter and Trip were the ones laid out with Phlox alternating between them. Trip grabbed Archer's hand again as he ventured close. "Cap'n," he mumbled, painfully, "'M sorry."

            "Be quiet now, Trip," Jon told him, trying not to put too much pressure on fingers that might be broken.

            "Broke rule number one," Trip continued, straining to look up at him.

            "Don't worry about that now."

            "Many nights in the Brig?"

            Jon smiled a little. "You might as well move in there."

            Trip tried to smile, too, but the movement pulled his split lip. He attempted to curl up on his side but Phlox pulled him back with exasperation and gave him an injection at his neck. Trip's head lolled to one side and the fingers that gripped Jon went slack.

            "How bad is he, Doctor?" he asked.

            Phlox gave him one of his strange half-smiles designed to be comforting. "Both he and Corporal Carpenter will heal, though I don't advise them to do any more 'defense training' anytime soon," he assessed. "Now if you'll excuse me, Captain…" He took Trip's limp hand from Jon and placed it back on the bed. "He does have a couple of broken ribs I need to set." Jon nodded tightly and stepped back.

 

***

 

            "This is _not_ a good idea," T'Pol stated as she and Archer exited the lift onto the Bridge.

            Archer smirked. "Travis is with him. They'll be fine." T'Pol appeared unconvinced. "They're just going to fly around the ship a few times, then come right back." He settled into his chair. "Besides, you saw how excited Trip was about it. He's been studying the helm controls for days now."

            "A shuttlepod is not a toy," the First Officer countered quietly from the Science station. "And Ensign Mayweather spent _years_ studying navigation and piloting."

            Archer just shook his head and went back to studying his reports. He made sure to check in with Travis and Trip every few minutes, though, just in case. Things seemed to be going well enough, so when Trip asked if he could take the controls for a little while, Archer didn't see any problem with it, even though he could feel T'Pol's disapproval from the other side of the room.

            He was glancing over the duty roster for the week when T'Pol suddenly exclaimed, "Captain!" and directed his attention to the viewscreen. The picture showed the shuttlepod hurtling away from _Enterprise_ , spinning three hundred sixty degrees on its long axis.

            "Hail them!" he ordered Hoshi urgently. Loud noises from the shuttlepod filled the Bridge—at first Archer thought they were screams, but he soon recognized them as whoops of excitement. And laughter.

            " _That's what they used to call a 'barrel roll' on Earth_!" Trip was saying.

            " _Incredible!"_ Travis responded enthusiastically. " _How are you keeping the stabilizers so well aligned at this velocity?_ "

            " _Well, I just_ —"

            "Gentlemen!" Archer interrupted, using the term loosely. The shuttlepod channel lapsed into utter silence. He glanced at T'Pol, who gave him an insufferably smug look for a Vulcan. "I think it's time to come back now."

 

***

            Trip walked into Sickbay with a pained expression on his face and a hand rubbing his stomach, and Phlox immediately knew what was the matter with him. "My stomach hurts," he complained unnecessarily.

            The doctor rolled his eyes, receiving the expected results from a scan. "You've been drinking coffee again, haven't you," he accused chidingly.

            Trip at least had the grace to look sheepish about it. "Just a little," he protested. Phlox prepared an injection. "I thought maybe if I had a little each day, I would get used to it."

            "And instead, what happened?" the doctor asked leadingly.

            Trip sighed as he took the medicine. "I felt sick each day."

            "You and coffee are _not_ compatible," Phlox lectured, in the tone of one who has said this far too many times.

            "I know, I know," Trip agreed. "But Captain Archer _really_ likes coffee."

            "That doesn't mean _you_ must like it as well," the doctor reminded him. "Must I point out to you yet again that, despite what you may _wish_ to think, you are _not_ human like Captain Archer?"

            Trip pouted a little, but the look didn't work on Phlox any better than Porthos's pout in pursuit of cheese did.

 

***

 

            "—so Hoshi, we'll need your translation skills," Archer was saying as they all contemplated a schematic of the city they were currently orbiting. "And Doctor, would you like to come down and pick up those medical supplies yourself?"

            "Certainly, Captain," Phlox shrugged. "I think it would be quite pleasant to mingle amongst the crowd for a few hours, as it were."

            "Maybe I should come, too, sir," Reed suggested. "A crowded marketplace, dozens of species—could be somewhat volatile."

            Archer shook his head. "No, I need you to stay here and get those phase cannons working again. I don't want to run into those pirates again without a full complement of weapons."

            Malcolm nodded his understanding, then recommended thoughtfully, "Perhaps you should take Trip with you then."

            "Trip," Archer repeated flatly. "You think someone down there might insult me and need to be taught a lesson?" The coolness in his tone indicated he wasn't close to forgetting about the incident with the defense training and the MACOs.

            Reed didn't let that deter him. "Well, sir, I assume he would defend not only your honor, but your person as well," he pointed out. "If you get into trouble, he can handle himself pretty well."

            _You ought to know,_ Archer thought, but he decided not to say that out loud. Malcolm was only thinking of his safety, after all. "Alright," he agreed, with some trepidation. "Trip's first mission away from the ship."

            The whoop Trip let out when he was told he'd be going planetside with Archer and the others was heard all the way to the other end of the ship, or at least it could have been, Jon felt. The fact that Trip would _also_ get to wear Jon's extra _Enterprise_ jacket while on the "mission" almost sent the young man over the edge completely.

            "Are you listening to me?" Jon asked for the third time as the two of them walked down the hall to the transporter. Trip was petting the _Enterprise_ patch on his sleeve again. "Now what are the rules again?"

            "Don't touch anything, don't talk to anyone, stay with you," Trip parroted dutifully.

            "Right. Now there's going to be a lot of people down there, a lot of different kinds of aliens, a lot of noise and activity," Archer reminded him. "I don't want you to get overwhelmed. You just stay with me and Hoshi and the doctor, alright?"

            "Yes, sir," Trip assured him. "How do I look?" he asked Hoshi and Phlox with a grin as they met outside the transporter platform.

            "Just like a member of the crew," Hoshi replied with a smile, as Archer rolled his eyes. He'd probably never get that jacket back now.

            The market was indeed crowded, noisy, filled with dozens of species all advertising their wares at the top of their lungs in their own languages. Hoshi was in heaven recording and analyzing it all. Far from being intimidated by the activity, Trip seemed fascinated by it, which Archer decided was probably better. Unfortunately his rules for safe conduct seemed to quickly fall by the wayside.

            "Please stop touching the animals," Phlox chastised him, pulling the young man away from a stack of caged birds. "You are going _straight_ to Decon when we get home. There's no telling what sorts of pathogens you may be picking up here."

            "Okay, that's food, I think, don't touch it," Archer instructed, swiftly grabbing Trip's hand at another booth. The irregular brown chunks hanging on strings might also have been decoration, but better safe than sorry.

            "Trip, come on, we're falling behind," Hoshi prodded him when he tarried at a booth too long, listening in rapt attention to the merchant's sales pitch.

            "This place is really neat," he finally assessed, coming up behind the Captain again. "Thanks for bringing me along, sir."

            "I'm glad you're enjoying it," was all Archer could say after looking at his joyful expression.

            They were about to try the next row of booths when Archer came up short against a tall alien of an unfamiliar species, who did not seem surprised to be in their way. The guttural words he uttered were incomprehensible to Jon, but the elaborate knife he pressed against Archer's chest seemed to speak clearly enough. Jon was just about to ask Hoshi if there was any way the man could actually be a knife salesman when Trip reacted.

            It was all over in a few seconds, really, though watching it the scene seemed both strangely blurred _and_ slowed down. Trip stepped forward, between Jon and the alien. And with no further warning he smashed the alien in the face with his elbow, twisted the knife from his hand, kneed him in the stomach region, and threw him to the ground. Time only seemed to retake its normal course when Jon saw Trip poised with one knee on the alien's chest, his own knife at his throat. Trip's eyes were blazing with an expression Jon had never seen, and didn't particularly like.

            "Trip!" Jon took his shoulder, carefully, so as not to startle him. The young man was frozen, as if awaiting orders. "Let him up."

            Immediately Trip rose to his feet and the alien wasted no time scrambling up and backing away from them warily, hissing something in his own language. Trip was watching the alien, but Jon was watching Trip. "Put the knife down," he ordered.

            Trip rammed the knife through a nearby wooden post, burying it to the hilt. The alien growled a little but kept back, and Trip growled at him in return. "Come on, Trip, let's go," Archer decided, grabbing his arm firmly and pulling him away. He came easily enough but kept turning back to check on the alien assailant, who was frantically trying to pull his knife from the post, until the crowd cut off his view. Jon felt Trip's muscles relax under his grip and when he looked over at the young man, he saw the familiar expression he was used to as Trip gazed about the marketplace.

            "Oh, look at these!" And with that Trip was right back to admiring something dangling from a rack. Archer and Phlox exchanged glances.

 

            "So where did you learn to do that?" Hoshi finally asked, as she and Trip were examining what might have been carved beads on a string.

            "Do what?" Trip replied innocently.

            "Well, you took care of that… guy pretty quickly," she reminded him, frowning at her distorted image in a decorated mirror. "And that knife through the post…"

            Trip shrugged, uninterested. "I dunno. Instinct, I guess."

            Hoshi considered that. "Well, I guess I should feel safer here with you, right?" she decided. "I mean, if someone jumped out of the shadows at us…"

            "Oh, I don't think I'd be much protection," Trip told her dismissively. "I'm just not very aggressive."

            Hoshi stared at him, wondering if he was attempting humor. "Not very aggressive? Well, I have to admit, it was difficult for me to imagine what Lt. Reed said you could do, but after seeing it with my own eyes—"

            Trip shook his head. "I can only defend the Captain," he explained, matter-of-factly.

            "Really? Why is that?"

            "I don't know," the young man told her. "That just seems to be… how it works."

            Hoshi was still thinking about that when she suddenly looked up and realized they'd lost sight of the Captain and the doctor. "Great," she sighed, starting to pull out her communicator.

            "Come on," Trip said, grabbing her hand. "The Captain's right over here." He began weaving haphazardly through the crowd, Hoshi towed along behind him.

            "You can see him?" Hoshi asked, yelling over the noise.

            "Not yet," Trip replied. "But he's right over here."

            Archer was turning in exasperation, obviously looking for them, when they suddenly appeared out of the crowd behind Phlox, looking nonchalant as if they'd always been there. Archer was not amused. "Come here," he said, taking Trip's arm. "Why don't you just stay with me for the rest of the mission?"

 

            Archer wandered into Sickbay later that day looking slightly distracted. "Captain!" Phlox greeted.

            "Did you get everything you needed?" the Captain asked, as if he'd just remembered that was the purpose of his visit.

            "Oh, yes," Phlox replied happily. "A full supply of basic compounds, plus a few new things to try out as the situation warrants." Archer narrowed his eyes a little; Phlox had a tendency to take a little more glee in experimental medicine than the Captain was comfortable with. "And—a stock of fresh Rigellian murines!" He shook a box at Archer that appeared to contain a half dozen mouse-like creatures scampering over one another frantically. Never a fan of rodents, Archer wrinkled his nose.

            "What do they do?" he asked curiously.

            "They," Phlox answered, picking one up by the tail and opening the door of one of the other cages, "feed my Xenoian rotsucker." With that he dropped the mouse-like creature into the cage and quickly shut the door. There was a desperate squeaking and the cage rattled, and then all was still. Phlox looked quite pleased. Jon found it all a little gruesome.

            Phlox noticed the Captain was still hanging around, looking a little aimless. "Was there something else you wanted to discuss, Captain?" he guessed, not entirely ignorant of what it might be.

            "Well—it's just—" Jon began awkwardly. "You saw what Trip did today."

            "Ah," Phlox replied. "You mean with the knife-wielding potential assailant."

            "Yes." Jon seemed to think about it for a while. "It's just—I guess I'm not used to seeing him act that way."

            Phlox considered that. "Well, you've read two reports from Lt. Reed, seen the state that both he and the two MACOs were in—"

            Archer waved that off. "Reading reports, seeing the results after the fact—that's different from seeing him… in action," he admitted.

            Phlox wasn't sure what the Captain wanted him to say. "Well, Captain, Trip was only acting in your defense. No one appeared to be permanently injured."

            "It didn't bother you at all?"

            Phlox shrugged. "I don't know what you mean by 'bother,' Captain," he confessed easily. "Normally, Trip is very docile, gentle, friendly, patient—"

            "And the next thing you know, he's got someone on the ground with a knife at their throat," Archer finished.

            "I suppose the contrast could be a bit disquieting," Phlox allowed. "But, if I am not mistaken, Captain, is this not the purpose, the biological imperative if you will, of the Viridian _ragnish_? To serve and protect his _kaldin_ from all threats?" Archer didn't look entirely convinced. "Captain, am I to understand this is the _first_ time you have actually witnessed Trip act with aggression?" Archer gave him an affirmative look. "I just assumed that when you escaped from the Klingon outpost—"

            Jon shook his head. "No. He got between me and a Klingon guard and he took all the blows," he revealed soberly. "But he never fought back."

            "Hmm. Well, perhaps the imprinting process had not reached its full strength yet," hypothesized Phlox. "Are you worried that he might become aggressive towards some innocent person?"

            Archer shook his head slowly. "No, I guess not. It's just—hard to put all these pieces together, I suppose."

            Phlox smiled patiently. "Give it a little time, Captain. I'm sure you'll get used to his behaviors."

 

***

 

            Travis feinted to the left, then shot the basketball to the right, to Hoshi's open arms. She dribbled it menacingly, hunched over the ball, looking for her route to the basket, then darted to the left, maneuvering deftly around Reed who grabbed for the ball but missed. Hoshi smirked and turned to throw down some trash talk towards him when suddenly Archer came out of nowhere and swiped the ball from under her hand. As he neared the basket Travis moved to block him, arms up to grab any attempt at a shot. An instant later Travis was clobbered to the ground amid a chorus of groans.

            "Trip!"

            "G-d, not again."

            "Maybe he'd be good for rugby. It was a nice tackle, after all."

            "I barely even touched him!" Travis was protesting as Reed helped him to his feet.

            Archer pulled Trip up, basketball held against his hip, and gave him a look of exasperation. "Trip, we've been over this."

            "I know, sir, I'm sorry," Trip sighed. "Sorry, Travis."

            "He was just blocking me," Archer reminded the young man. "It's part of the game."

            "I know, sir," Trip assured him unhappily. "It's just instinct, I guess."

            Trip was a fast and eager learner of just about anything anyone cared to show him, but team sports seemed to be beyond his grasp. If he and Jon were on the same team, their strategy was impeccable—Trip could somehow sense exactly where he was supposed to be and when, at least to receive any throws from Archer. But, he wasn't assertive enough to actually get his own moves through and tended to get pushed around on the court by more aggressive players. He was nearly useless if he and Jon were on different teams, because he had some kind of moral impediment against blocking or undermining Archer in any way. And if he just stood on the sidelines and watched—well, they'd already had four unexpected time-outs in the game due to interference from the "audience." Apparently anyone getting in Archer's way en route to the basket was considered somehow threatening.

            Archer shook his head. He didn't want to hurt Trip's feelings, of course, but something told him they were never going to get a good game in with him around. "Why don't you go up to the Bridge and pester T'Pol for a while?" he suggested, not unkindly. "See if she'll let you pilot the ship."

            Trip's face lit up. "Really?"

            "Only if she agrees," Archer warned him.

            "Okay!"

            As it turned out T'Pol was not a fan of Trip piloting the ship, especially when he mentioned phrases like "barrel rolls." She did, however, consent to letting him manipulate some of the sensor controls, as long as he referred to it as "learning" and not "messing around with." He had been working quietly for about twenty minutes—seventeen point three, as T'Pol would say—when she saw him suddenly sit bolt upright, then leap from his seat and run for the lift. The First Officer refrained from rolling her eyes but made a note to herself to remark on Trip's occasional lack of discipline—in a tactful way, of course—to the Captain later.

            The pain when he hit the floor had been bright but momentary. "Sorry, sir," Travis told him, giving him a hand up. "Are you okay?"

            "Fine," Archer assured him, then added with a smirk, "but you better hope Trip doesn't come running down here to kick your a-s." They all started to chuckle—until, as if cue, Trip burst through the doors to the cargo bay.

            Jon moved to block Travis, just in case, as Trip jogged up to him. "Captain!"

            "I'm fine, it was an accident," Jon began, getting just the tiniest bit irritated with his constant shadow. If a man couldn't even take a well-intended bump during a game of basketball—

            "You're injured," Trip countered firmly.

            Jon rolled his eyes and signaled for the ball that had bounced away to be tossed to him. "I'm not inj—OW!" The ball hit the flat of his hand, sending spikes of pain up his arm, the one he'd landed on. Trip turned the suddenly aching limb over and poked ever so gently at Jon's wrist, which was already starting to turn red and swollen. Even the lightest touch had Jon wincing. Trip gave him a look that spoke volumes.

            Jon sighed. "Okay, I guess I better go to Sickbay then."

            Travis looked slightly horrified. "G-d, I'm sorry, sir."

            Archer waved him off. "No, don't worry about it. It was _an accident_ ," he remarked, emphasis directed at Trip. "You guys keep playing."

            Jon and Trip left the cargo bay and headed for Sickbay, with Trip constantly checking Jon over to make sure he hadn't been damaged anywhere else. "Look, it was an accident," Jon repeated. "You're not going to—I don't know, take some kind of vengeance on Ensign Mayweather, are you?"

            "Vengeance?" Trip looked at him as if the thought had never crossed his mind, which perhaps it hadn't. "No, sir."

            Jon frowned at him. "Well, why not?" Hmm, that didn't come out right. "I mean, he jumps in front of me and you tackle him because he's a threat, but then he knocks me down and breaks my wrist, and that's _not_ threatening?"

            "I don't think your wrist is broken," Trip assured him. "Just sprained. And like you said, sir, it was an accident. The moment's kind of passed now. If you _felt_ like he was still a threat, well, that'd be different."

            "You've got to explain these rules to me one of these days," Jon decided.

 

***

 

            Phlox entered Sickbay one afternoon to find Trip sitting on a biobed, patiently waiting for him. In his hands was a greenish brown amphibious creature with bumpy skin and two rows of spines, which were currently flat against its body. Trip was running his finger gently between them. "Trip," Phlox admonished, being careful not to startle the young man. "I have told you before not to take the Xenoian rotsucker out of its cage. It is a _very dangerous creature_." He was already detouring towards the tritanium-lined gloves he would need to wear when handling the animal himself.

            "I know, Doctor," Trip agreed distractedly, "but I think he's sick."

            "Oh?" Phlox asked, approaching carefully despite the heavy gloves he now wore.

            "I gave him a murine for lunch and he just let it run all around the cage, didn't even eat it," he reported with some distress. "I've never seen him do that before."

            Phlox pointed the hand scanner in the direction of the poisonous creature on Trip's lap, not bothering to mention that Trip could have told the doctor of his concerns _without_ removing the animal from its cage. There was likely little point in it.

            "Hmmm," the doctor murmured, considering the readings. "I believe our semi-aquatic friend is merely undergoing a normal molting cycle, which occurs in this species every three years." He turned off the scanner and gave Trip a reassuring smile. "He should be back to his usual cheery self in just a few days."

            "Here that, Malcolm?" Trip asked the spiny, warty creature earnestly. "Doctor Phlox says you're going to be just fine."

            Phlox's lips twitched a bit as he hauled the rotsucker's cage over to the bed where Trip sat. "I'm sure Lt. Reed would be—honored by your name choice."

            "Well, I thought he and Lt. Reed had a lot in common," Trip confided in a straight-forward tone, gently placing the creature back into its cage.

Phlox didn't really relax until he had latched the door firmly. "Go wash your hands, please," he reminded Trip, setting the cage back on the countertop.

"They're both kinda shy," Trip continued, doing as he was told, "and some people are kind of intimidated by them, but once you get to know them, they're nice."


End file.
